


Till The End Of Time

by mysticanni



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Forced Prostitution, Guns, Highwaymen, Knives, Lack of Communication, M/M, Money, Prostitution, Robbery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:07:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25036744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticanni/pseuds/mysticanni
Summary: Stand and deliver! Your money or your life!Crystal and Roger steal people's valuables at gun-point (although they hope they don't have to use any actual violence).If you are very pretty they might steal a kiss too.
Relationships: Chris "Crystal" Taylor/Roger Taylor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	1. Madness and Pure Greed

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> Just a little warning - 
> 
> Pretty much everyone is a criminal in this and Roger and Crystal are armed robbers albeit ones who are reluctant to hurt anyone - however I do shoot some characters I couldn't even be bothered to name - which I'm sorry to say I really enjoyed.
> 
> The rape/non-con warning relates to a back-story of prostitution.
> 
> It's a poorly researched historical tale - at the time there were high taxes on soap and tea. Law-abiding people who couldn't afford soap made their own (Crystal steals it of course) and your local friendly smuggler would provide you with tea. 
> 
> I considered just calling Miami 'Mr Beach' throughout but couldn't do it so I apologise for my clumsy effort to explain how he got that nickname in 1699.
> 
> Title from 'Innuendo'

England, 1699

Crystal pushed his hat further back on his head and felt the rainwater that had collected in the brim cascade down the back of his neck. He could not help flinching and his horse moved under him in response. He gave her wet neck an affectionate stroke.

Thunder growled in the distance and he frowned. If a storm was brewing they should get out from under the tree they were sheltering and hiding beneath. He glanced at his barely visible companion.

“Move?” Roger whispered, almost inaudible over the pounding rain and gusts of wind.

“Stay,” Crystal commanded, adding, “Move if the storm gets closer.” He watched closely for Roger’s barely visible nod.

*

Roger had hoped Crystal was going to call it off. This was no night to be out, no matter how rich the pickings were likely to be. His horse, Meg, whinnied nervously at another crash of thunder and he leaned forward to murmur, “Easy, Meggie,” to her.

He sensed Crystal tense next to him. “They’re coming,” Crystal hissed, sounding relieved.

Roger pulled his scarf up to cover the lower half of his face and waited, glad that they could now carry out the hold-up and go home. In the distance he saw a blur of movement which he assumed was the carriage. His own eyesight was too poor to allow him to see more and the filthy weather wasn’t helping matters.

“Now,” Crystal ordered and they were off, galloping towards the carriage, rain battering them once they had left the cover the trees had been affording them. 

Roger experienced the same sense of exhilaration that always filled him as they rapidly approached their prey. He drew alongside the carriage, its wheels spraying mud towards him. He heard Crystal shout to the coachman to halt and heard a warning shot. The carriage slowed. 

“I told you we ought to have hired armed guards,” a woman’s voice complained shrilly from within and Roger grinned as he dismounted. 

“Shut up you miserable baggage!” a man snapped as Roger opened the carriage door.

“Now, now,” Roger scolded him, cheerfully brandishing his pistol in the man’s direction. “That’s no way to speak to a lady, is it?” The man who had spoken was middle-aged and looked irritable. The other occupants of the carriage were a middle-aged woman and a younger man, who was presumably supposed to be acting as protection but was cowering in a corner.

The younger man whimpered as the door next to him was wrenched open by Crystal, who thrust a lantern inside which illuminated the spreading piss stain on the young man’s breeches. “Dear me,” Crystal touched the tip of his knife to the damp patch, “did I give you a little fright?”

“Oh, my, Roderick,” the lady said, wrinkling her nose. 

The older man was blunter. “You snivelling useless infant!”

Roger kept his pistol pointing at the older man but turned his head slightly towards the lady. With his free hand he gently took one of her gloved hands and brought it to his lips for a brief kiss. “If you would be so kind as to put your jewellery into this bag, m’ lady,” he purred, producing a black velvet cloth bag.

Crystal was efficiently removing pocket watches, rings, handkerchiefs and gloves from the glaring older man and the snivelling younger man. The older man was spitting a stream of curses at Crystal interspersed with the occasional insult aimed at the younger man.

“I’ll take your pretty hair decoration too, please, m’ lady,” Roger said. He slipped the hair bauble into the pocket of his breeches rather than into the velvet bag. He could feel the rain hammering down on the exposed part of his back, torrential now, and he could tell that Meg was skittish. Thunder rumbled, sounding closer now. He caught Crystal’s eye. Crystal nodded. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord and Lady Harcourt,” Roger said as he slammed the carriage door shut, swinging himself into the saddle and racing after Crystal.

Roger caught a glimpse of the tied up coachman, slumped forlornly in the mud. Crystal had set him well away from the horses so he would not be trampled. Just as well, Roger thought, as thunder roared, seemingly right overhead now and the carriage-horses bolted, rattling the carriage along behind them at an alarming rate. Roger felt a pang of guilt and hoped Lady Harcourt would not be injured if the carriage tipped over.

He focussed on trying to soothe Meg and encouraging her onwards. “Home, sweetheart,” he called to her, although he suspected they would have to find shelter before they were anywhere near London.

Lightning illuminated everything for a moment. Meg reared in terror, almost unseating Roger. Ahead of them, Crystal glanced backwards and swung his horse, Stranger, around, heading back towards them, yelling something Roger couldn’t hear over the storm.

Then Crystal was alongside him. “All well, sweetness? We’ll go to the cottage.”

It made sense to go to the cottage, Roger knew. It was much closer. He had hoped they would be able to go home, though.

*

The cottage had once nestled in a forest. Now it was in a much smaller wooded area north-west of London. London was expanding at an alarming rate, Crystal reflected, and one day would probably swallow up the cottage too. The little house had belonged to a great-aunt of his and was a useful hide-out for someone in his line of work.

Quite apart from the abysmal weather, Crystal was aware that the robbery had been madness. It was lucky for them that the Lord had been too stingy to hire guards, lucky that there had only been one coachman and no additional servants to contend with and lucky that young Roderick had not struck back at them. 

Crystal grinned at the thought of the young man’s unfortunate loss of bladder control which meant that Crystal had won his on-going bet with Roger regarding whether any of their victims would be frightened enough to wet themselves. Roger would now have to see to the horses when they halted tonight but the best part was that Crystal could make demands of Roger in bed and right now he was thinking of Roger on his knees in front of him putting his sweet little mouth to good use. Crystal thought of those big blue eyes locked on Crystal’s own eyes, thought of his hands tangled in Roger’s soft hair. He urged his horse forwards, keen to reach their destination and glad that at least the storm seemed to be moving in the opposite direction. 

*

Roger laid his cheek against Meg’s neck. “Thank you, darling,” he murmured. The horses were in the barn at the back of the cottage. Roger shivered, soaked through and cold. He gave Stranger an affectionate pat.

Crystal appeared, stroking each horse’s nose then sliding his arms around Roger. “It’s my turn to be taken care of,” he growled.

Roger lifted the lantern off its hook and followed Crystal back to the cottage. “Strip,” Crystal commanded.

Roger hung his wet coat on the peg on the back of the door. Crystal had lit a fire but the room had not warmed up yet. He shivered, his cold fingers fumbling to pull his shirt off. Crystal was suddenly next to him. “C’m’ on, sweetness, I’m gonna warm you up nicely.” His fingers were un-braiding Roger’s wet hair. “I’ve put water on to heat. We can bathe, later.” Crystal ripped at the laces fastening Roger’s breeches and shoved them down, before he realised Roger still had his muddy boots on. “You’re wearing too much,” he grumbled, kissing Roger urgently. 

“So are you,” Roger mumbled, tugging Crystal’s shirt out of his breeches.

Crystal whirled him nearer to the fire, which the bed was close to. “Sit here and get your boots off, angel.” Roger did as he was told. 

*

Roger had been afraid the purloined hair ornament might have fallen from his pocket when Crystal shoved his breeches down. He should tell Crystal about all the items he had hidden from him, he knew, but he was not sure how Crystal would react.

Once his boots were off he stood and wriggled out of his breeches and drawers. Crystal was hauling impatiently at Roger’s undershirt and he heard the material rip. “Sorry,” Crystal said, not sounding a bit sorry, “I’ll buy you another.”

“I expect I can sew it,” Roger gasped as Crystal’s hands cupped his arse and drew him closer.

“In a way it’s a shame the boy pissed himself,” Crystal mused, “or we could’ve taken his clothes. You’d have looked gorgeous in those pretty little silk scraps.”

“Do we have any dressing-up things here?” Roger wondered. 

“I want you too much to look,” Crystal growled, pushing Roger down onto the bed.

*

Afterwards, Crystal dragged the bath in front of the fire, filling it with hot water, and they both squeezed into it. There was a bar of nice soap which Roger marvelled at. “Did you buy this?” he asked Crystal.

“Only the best for you, my love,” Crystal said, adding, “Of course I didn’t bloody buy it! I stole it. Always let someone else pay the soap tax!”

Roger laughed, leaning back into Crystal’s warm embrace as Crystal soaped him gently. “It smells nice,” he murmured.

Later, snuggled warmly against Crystal in bed, Roger murmured, “We were reckless tonight.”

“Yes,” Crystal agreed, “but we got away with it.”

Part of Roger wanted to say that they should stop. Every time they robbed someone their chances of escaping alive and uninjured lessened. One day their luck would run out. But how would he obtain money if they stopped? He sighed and wished he had been honest with Crystal from the start. But it was too late now. 

*

“Good morning!” Roger sang out cheerfully, his hand sliding down Crystal’s chest and disappearing under the covers.

“Good morning you saucy little minx,” Crystal kissed Roger, “How would you like the day to start?”

*

A little later, Roger pulled his still damp coat over his naked body and headed outside to check on the horses and see if the hens had laid any eggs. Their nearest neighbour, called Ratty by everyone, his given name lost in the mists of time, looked after the hens, the goat, the fruit trees and the little vegetable patch for Crystal.

Crystal watched Roger leave. As far as he knew Roger had always lived in London and yet he was far better than Crystal, who had often stayed here, at finding eggs and coaxing milk from the goat. The goat seemed to delight in butting Crystal away and he could not fathom the hiding places the hens had for their eggs. 

He built up the fire and watched, shivering naked at the back door, until Roger returned from the barn with a basket full of eggs and a pail of milk. It was still raining. Roger handed Crystal the basket and the pail and used the pump at the door to sluice mud from his bare feet. Crystal affectionately plucked straw from Roger’s hair as he shrugged his coat off. “We ought to come and stay here in the summer,” Crystal murmured, “so you can wander around naked like the sweet little savage you are.”

Roger snorted. “If I was constantly naked would you let me out of bed?” 

“Probably not,” Crystal conceded, “but that proposition is attractive too.” He pulled on his drawers and undershirt. “You know I don’t just lo – like – you for your skills in bed?” he added. Sometimes he thought Roger did think that.

*

“I know,” Roger nodded. He did know, he thought. Crystal seemed unable to say the word love out loud but Roger was fairly certain Crystal loved him nonetheless, which made the fact that he was stealing from Crystal and going behind his back so much worse. 

He pulled on his undergarments and ate some of the eggs Crystal had prepared. He had been trying not to eat too much lately. He thought he was avoiding taking from Crystal in other ways while he secretly stole from him. He also tried to give as much as he could, pretending never to be too tired for anything Crystal wanted in the bedroom and doing more chores than usual. Would it balance out? He thought not.

There was a knock on the back door. Crystal picked up his gun. “Who goes there?”

It was Ratty. Crystal admitted him. “I saw the smoke from the chimney and the horses in the barn,” Ratty said as he entered. “Are you staying long?”

Crystal shook his head. “We needed shelter from the storm,” he explained, “and we’ll be gone after we’ve tidied up.” He nodded towards the basket of eggs and the bucket of milk. “We’ve used all we need of the eggs and milk if you wish to take them.”

“Thank you,” Ratty peered into the basket. “I’ll need to get you to tell me where to look for the eggs Master Roger you always find more than I do.”

Crystal snorted. “He thinks like a bird.” He regretted it as soon as he said it, noting the hurt expression that flitted across Roger’s face.

Roger gestured to the cooking pot. “Would you like some eggs, Ratty?” he offered. “Then,” he paused and glanced towards Crystal, “I can show you where I found the eggs, if you wish it?”

Crystal thought of that little pause as they rode towards London. Roger knew they were in an equal partnership, didn’t he? He didn’t have to defer to Crystal. Roger must know that. Their working partnership was good. If Roger felt – Crystal was not sure what Roger might be thinking that would account for that little pause – that he was subservient, would that be the word – then surely their relationship would suffer, wouldn’t it? “We’re a good team, aren’t we?” he said, smiling at Roger, who smiled back. There, then, he did know it, Crystal thought, relieved. 

*

Crystal had brought the cottage and a few London properties he rented out for income to their partnership. Roger had brought with him a townhouse “for persons of good quality” which had become their main residence. Number 5 Downing Street looked very grand, standing in a quiet cul-de-sac of identical houses. 

The developer, a Mr George Downing, was a rather dodgy character. He had gifted Roger the house “for services rendered” Roger had explained with a tight unhappy little smile that had prompted Crystal to hug him fiercely.

Roger had not been living in the house when they had met and there had been hardly any furniture in it. Roger had brought the house to their partnership but not much money. “It’s not a very well made house,” he had told Crystal. “George had the houses built as cheaply and quickly as possible. They have shallow foundations on sandy soil. One day the place will fall down around our ears!”

Crystal loved the house despite this. He had thought at first that Downing simply allowed Roger to occupy the house rent free but discovered that Roger owned the place. A house intended for a fine family. A house intended for titled residents. A house intended for people rich enough to have horses to put in the stables and require rooms for their servants. 

Crystal sometimes worried about what Roger might have had to do to secure this property. What services had he rendered? What had he done to produce that tight unhappy little smile, so unlike Roger’s usual cheerful grins, when he thought of the services he had rendered to George Downing?

At first, they had held up coaches to supplement Crystal’s rental income and to obtain money to lavish on the house. They no longer needed the extra money now but Crystal still liked the thrill of it. Roger had been correct though, the previous night’s escapade had been reckless. They had money set aside now. They had horses in the stables and servants (well, sort of servants) in the servants quarters. Perhaps it was time to stop.

*

The contents of the black velvet bag lay spread across the table in the parlour. Crystal touched each item. There was a spectacular sapphire necklace with matching earrings. They had collected three gold rings and a ring set with a large diamond. Three leather coin-purses lay on the table. 

Roger tapped the shabbiest coin-purse. “Did you take this from the coachman?” he asked.

Crystal nodded. He touched three good quality handkerchiefs and a silk scarf. There were two pairs of kid gloves and a pair of satin gloves the lady had been wearing. Crystal frowned. “Where’s the hair ornament?” he asked. “I distinctly recall you asking her to hand it over.”

Roger shrugged. “Maybe it fell out. Is there a hole in the bag?”

Crystal shook his head. He glanced at the floor in case anything had fallen there. It had not. “P’r’aps it fell out onto the carriage floor,” he suggested. “You need to keep a closer eye on the pretty trinkets, angel,” he told Roger, sighing. “It looked like diamonds,” he muttered. 

*

The pretty trinket felt as if it was burning a hole in the pocket of Roger’s breeches. He hoped they were diamonds. He thought they probably were. 

Crystal slid his arms around Roger’s waist from behind, resting his chin on Roger’s shoulder. “Precious little angel, would you be so kind as to take this loot to cousin Freddie?” He nuzzled Roger’s neck. “He’ll give you a better price.”

This suited Roger, as he could dispose of the hair bauble, but it would look suspicious if he was too keen. “I always go,” he grumbled.

“You like seeing Freddie,” Crystal purred, one hand sliding downwards, fingers dipping inside the waistband of Roger’s breeches, “and I’d be ever so grateful to my lovely little angel.”

“Would you, now,” Roger gulped.

“Oh, I would,” Crystal murmured in his ear, “after you return, of course.”

“You know,” Roger said, wriggling away from Crystal, “if you have any more of that fancy French soap Freddie would love that.”

“Huh,” Crystal sniffed, “He’s supposed to be giving us money not taking the nice things I stole for us as free gifts, little angel.” He sighed. “Right, then...” He left the room.

*

Roger fingered the hair ornament in his pocket and wondered what would happen if he told Crystal what he had done. His stomach twisted at the thought. He imagined the look of betrayal Crystal would give him. He could not risk it. He couldn’t bear it if he lost Crystal.

*

Crystal laid the three bars of soap on top of the chest of drawers in their bedroom. Three different scents: rose; honeysuckle and jasmine. Roger was a beautiful powerful rose, a symbol of beauty. He was sweet, charming honeysuckle. Crystal carefully replaced the rose and honeysuckle bars of soap in the drawer and picked up the bar of jasmine scented soap.

He wondered if Roger had taken the hair ornament. Other items had vanished before now, a gold ring here, some emerald earrings there. Little things Roger might have thought Crystal wouldn’t have noticed. He had been careless with the hair decoration though, mentioning it, drawing Crystal’s attention to it. Did Roger want to be caught? Should he confront him?

What if Roger was secretly saving up money so he could leave Crystal? He couldn’t bear that. Perhaps it was better not to bring things to a crisis point and risk losing Roger.

*

He returned to Roger and held out the soap. Roger took it and sniffed it. He looked enquiringly at Crystal.

“Jasmine,” Crystal told him, “A heady scent. It will suit Freddie, I think.”

“Thank you,” Roger kissed him.

“I’ll walk with you, I might visit Trip,” Crystal told him.

*

When Crystal had been embarking on a life of crime he had used the Sheffield brothers to get rid of stolen goods for him. For some bizarre reason he had never understood such contacts were always referred to as ‘uncle’.

When he had joined forces with Roger one of the Sheffield brothers had indicated, all too plainly, that they would get a better price for their goods if Roger was willing to become intimately acquainted with him. Crystal had declined this offer on Roger’s behalf and from then on he had either accompanied Roger or gone alone to do business with the brothers. 

So it had been a relief when ‘uncle’ Jim had opened a very respectable shop selling furnishings for those who wanted quality but were unable to afford to commission new items for themselves. Much of his stock came from the fashionable homes of gentlemen who had been unlucky at the card table and required cash in a hurry.

Jim was not old enough to be an uncle, really, Crystal thought they were around the same age, but he was called uncle despite this. It was his charming assistant Freddie –definitely too young to be anyone’s uncle and therefore everyone’s cousin – who undertook business of a sensitive nature in the back room of the shop. Roger had taken to Freddie immediately and it was safe for him to go there himself. 

Crystal’s associates in similar lines of work complained that Freddie was even less generous than the Sheffield brothers but Crystal knew Freddie gave him good rates compared to others and he was even more generous in his dealings with Roger. If Crystal hadn’t known that Freddie was in more than just a business partnership with Jim he’d have wondered if Freddie was in love with Roger. 

*

Jim’s shop was in what Crystal thought of as a second tier street. It was a shopping street for people who wanted upper class style on a cheaper budget. Roger had once told Crystal that uncle Jim actually made a profit on the legitimate goods he sold but he was a criminal at heart. “Just like us,” he had laughed, kissing Crystal.

Uncle Jim was behind the counter and beamed as they entered the shop. There was a well dressed young man in the shop, examining an uncomfortable looking chair. “Good day, Mr Hutton,” Crystal said, all politeness with this stranger present. 

“Good day to you, Mr Taylor and Mr Taylor!” Jim smiled.

“Is my cousin receiving visitors, Mr Hutton?” Roger asked. He looked so sweet and innocent, Crystal thought.

“Indeed he is,” Jim confirmed, opening a section of the counter to allow Roger to slip behind it. “Just go through, Mr Taylor, you know the way.”

“I shall see you later,” Crystal told Roger. Roger looked back over his shoulder and gave Crystal a sweet smile before vanishing into the back room.

Crystal knew it was ridiculous to fear this would be the last time he would ever see Roger, although Freddie would certainly help Roger leave Crystal if Roger asked for his assistance. It occurred to Crystal that Roger wouldn’t need to keep saving up to leave him (if, of course, that is what he was doing). He could just take the money from last night’s haul and disappear.

“Are you accompanying him, Mr Taylor?” Jim asked, startling him. He realised he had simply been standing in the middle of the shop, staring at the door Roger had disappeared through. He flushed.

“No, thank you, I’m going to see the apothecary. I’ll stop by on my way back.” He glanced at the customer, the stranger, and did not add ‘to pick up Roger’ but he thought Jim probably understood that he would want to walk Roger home. Crystal told himself he wanted to walk Roger home for Roger’s own safety. And it would be good to know as soon as possible if Roger had decided to leave him.

*

Trip’s apothecary shop was busy. Crystal waited patiently while Trip and his serious assistant John dealt with the customers thronging the shop. Anyone with a modicum of sense knew Trip and John were the best healers in town and Trip was well known amongst Crystal’s acquaintances for attending to injuries acquired dubiously during criminal activity without asking any awkward questions.

Trip was not his real name. “It represents the journey I took to get to these shores,” he had told Crystal once. Trip had lived in various countries and had learned from their healers while he meandered towards England. He had a lot of interesting stories. 

His shop was not on the most fashionable street because some people found him too ‘other’. That was their loss, Crystal thought.

Trip smiled as Crystal approached the counter. He turned to John. “Will you be able to manage alone for a while, Mr Deacon?”

John surveyed Crystal. Crystal always felt John could see right into his soul. “Yes, Sir,” he replied.

Trip beckoned Crystal around the counter and into the back room where he held more private consultations. He hugged Crystal. “It is good to see you, my friend, but you look troubled. May I be of assistance to you?” He waved Crystal towards a chair.

Crystal sat down and sighed. “I’m worried Roger is going to leave me,” he confessed.

Trip poured two glasses of a ruby red liquid. “A pick-me-up,” he explained, “mine own recipe.” He handed a glass to Crystal. “Why in all creation would Roger leave you?”

Crystal shrugged. He sipped the ruby red liquid. It was sweet. A slightly familiar taste, of berries, he presumed, but with an underlying indefinable something else. “Why would he stay,” he asked morosely. “He has been secretly taking items, presumably for money.”

“Not much of a secret, since you know about it,” Trip pointed out.

“He doesn’t know that I know, of course,” Crystal said, sipping more of his drink. 

“How did you find out he was stealing?” Trip asked.

Crystal explained about the missing items. “He’s been doing it for months. He may have been doing it for longer before I realised.”

“And you think he is amassing money so that he can run away from you?” Trip asked.

Crystal nodded miserably.

“And although Roger is your business partner and your bed partner you do not share money?” Trip sought clarification.

Crystal stared at him. “We share everything!” he cried.

“So you give him half of the takings?” Trip frowned, “I’m sorry, I had, evidently erroneously, formed the impression that you controlled all of the finances. If you split your money equally then how is he obtaining more than his fair share?”

Crystal gulped down the remainder of his drink. Trip took his glass and replenished it. “I do look after our finances,” he agreed, “but I’ve never denied Roger anything! If he wants something he simply asks and it is his!”

“And what if he has needs he cannot tell you about?” Trip asked.

“What would he need that he couldn’t tell me about?” Crystal fretted, “We tell each other everything!”

Trip sighed. “And yet he has not confided in you with regards to the money he has been secreting. Crystal, I would strongly advise you to talk to him. He most likely wants to tell you about whatever is happening but does not know how to start the conversation. And, Crystal, I hope this causes no offence but I would suggest you need to discuss your joint finances too.”

*

“Roger, darling,” Freddie gracefully unfolded himself from his armchair and gathered Roger into a hug. “How are you my dear?”

Roger pressed his face against Freddie’s shoulder and did not reply. 

“There, there, darling,” Freddie murmured, gently patting Roger’s back. “Would you like some tea?” he offered, adding, “It’s good stuff – I know a very reputable smuggler.” 

As Roger quietly sipped his tea Freddie examined the goods, including the hair ornament Roger had produced from his pocket. He maintained a steady stream of gossip for Roger. “John Lane was caught trying to break into a house. He’s in Newgate prison. Percy Godwin was stabbed on his way home from a tavern. He was too drunk to realise at first, apparently. Trip tended to his wound and he should recover well. Jim thinks it was the work of the Easterly Gang. He thinks Percy had upset their second, Charlie Braithwaite, in some way. It might have been a robbery, of course. Percy never has much money though, so Jim’s probably right. Apparently Viscount Langley lost a considerable sum in a card game. Jim reckons we might obtain some of his pretty things for the shop when he needs to raise cash. There might be some nice bits for your lovely house. I’ll keep my eye out.”

Roger smiled at him. “Thanks, Freddie.”

“A pleasure, darling, I adore decorating houses and yours is so gorgeous.” Freddie examined the hair bauble carefully under a magnifying glass. 

“Are they real diamonds?” Roger wondered. 

“They are, my dear. This will fetch a good amount.”

Roger beamed. “Good. Will you get the money to them for me, please?”

“Don’t you want to do it yourself?” Freddie asked, as he carefully placed the items into a lined wooden box. He took coins from another box and placed them in a coin purse under Roger’s watchful gaze.

“I daren’t,” Roger told him sadly, “Crystal knows the hair decoration is missing. What if he is suspicious and follows me?”

Freddie sighed. “What if you simply told him what you are doing, dear?”

Roger shook his head. “I couldn’t bear it if he left me,” he muttered. 

“Do you really consider that likely?” Freddie wondered. 

“I cannot take the risk,” Roger said.

They both looked up at a knock on the door. Jim stuck his head into the room. “Crystal’s here for you, Roger, if you are ready?”

*

Roger passed on Freddie’s gossip to Crystal as they walked home. Roger had been in Newgate prison, Crystal knew, but he did not know if Roger had been incarcerated there or if he had merely been either a plain visitor or had visited as ‘entertainment’. He considered what Trip had said about their lack of a discussion about their finances. They had also never discussed how Roger had earned money before he became Crystal’s partner. Crystal felt that it had always been very obvious that Roger had been a whore. Should he have asked Roger how that had happened to him? He supposed he should. Roger had asked him, after all. “How did you come to be in this line of work?”

It occurred to Crystal that if things were the other way around and Roger controlled the money in their relationship then Crystal would have been able to steal to obtain money. He’d been lifting purses since infancy. He’d never known Roger to steal other than when he was working with Crystal. Had he left Roger with no other choice than to surreptitiously siphon off items to sell for his own gain? Yet what would Roger want money for?

“You would tell me if something was the matter, wouldn’t you?” Crystal asked. 

“Yes, of course. You would tell me, too, wouldn’t you?” Roger replied. 

Crystal nodded. He should do as Trip had suggested and talk to Roger. He was still scared about what Roger might say.

*

Mr Beach opened the door as they approached the house. He seemed to have an uncanny instinct for when Roger would appear. 

“Miami,” Roger hugged Mr Beach as he often did. 

Miami was an outlandish name. “One of the ladies used to say ‘amica something’ to him,” Roger had not really explained. “Latin... You know... And one of the little ones thought his name was... Well, it got mangled, obviously, but that’s where Miami came from.”

“How sweet,” Crystal had grunted. “Who is he, Rog?”

“He’s our new servant,” Roger had replied brightly.

“Mr B,” Crystal said now, gathering Roger to his side once Miami had released him.

Amica mea meant ‘my love’ in Latin, Crystal thought. Roger knew Latin and Greek, like a gentleman. They had stolen some books once, in languages Crystal found hard to decipher but Roger had been able to read. Crystal had never asked Roger why he had the education of a gentleman but had been working as a prostitute. Roger had never asked him how, as a thief since childhood, Crystal had received any education at all.

Roger was his love. Roger had not even made it clear who the children he had spoken of were but Crystal thought they would have been the offspring of the other prostitutes in the brothel Roger had once worked in.

Miami seemed an unlikely person to have been given a nickname by the small children of whores but Crystal and Roger seemed unlikely occupiers of a house in need of servants he supposed.

*

Phoebe served them dinner. Phoebe was a nickname too. His real name was Peter Freestone. He had arrived two days after Miami. “Another servant,” Roger had announced cheerfully. Phoebe had moved into Miami’s room (and bed). 

Miami and Phoebe had no specified duties although between them they did all of the housework and cooking. Miami had found a boy, Joe, to see to the horses. They all accepted very reasonable rates of pay and Crystal had to admit that they made life much easier. 

Miami didn’t say much, not to Crystal at any rate, but Phoebe was chatty and so it was from Phoebe that Crystal learned that Miami and Phoebe had first encountered Roger at Madame Sharpe’s House of Delights. 

Phoebe had evidently expected Crystal to know about the House of Delights and Crystal had certainly heard of it, although he had never sampled the delights on offer. From what he had heard you needed serious money and an invitation to enter the fabled realm of Madame Sharpe’s House of Delights. The King was rumoured to have visited the brothel.

Miami had apparently made sure everything ran smoothly. He’d have been good at that, Crystal thought. Phoebe had looked after the ‘delights’. “Roggie was always sweet,” Phoebe told Crystal.

Indeed, both Miami and Phoebe were endearingly fond of Roger. Crystal wholeheartedly approved of their benevolence towards his love. 

The brothel had been destroyed in a fire shortly before the arrival of Miami and Phoebe at 5 Downing Street. “You could find a much more lucrative job elsewhere,” Crystal had observed to Miami.

“Possibly,” Miami agreed, “but perhaps not better employers.”

Crystal had felt absurdly pleased to hear that, although he suspected it was Roger that Miami and Phoebe enjoyed working for. Roger, with his warm hugs and sunny smiles, was a joy to be with.

*

After dinner they sat by the fire in the parlour. Crystal poured them both glasses of brandy. “Will you read to me?” he asked Roger. Hearing Roger’s gravelly voice reading to him was a treat Crystal occasionally indulged in. Mindful of Roger’s poor eyesight he tried not to ask too often but he felt he deserved it tonight.

“Of course,” Roger agreed, “What would you like, love, Shakespeare’s sonnets perhaps?”

“How about John Donne,” Crystal requested, “the one where the gentleman tries to persuade the young lady to let him have his wicked way with her?”

“The Flea?” Roger clarified, “Yes, of course.”

*

Reading to Crystal, snuggled up to him in the chair, was one of Roger’s favourite things. The only sounds were his voice and the crackle of the fire. Crystal placed affectionate little kisses on Roger’s face. “I love you,” Roger told Crystal once he had finished reading. He needed Crystal to know. Crystal kissed him fiercely.

*

Later, Crystal kissed him tenderly. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?” Roger was going to have bruises, he thought guiltily. It was a bit late to be asking if he had been too rough now, he reflected. “You would tell me, wouldn’t you?” he asked anxiously, fairly certain that Roger would not tell him.

“I’m not as fragile as I appear,” Roger murmured, nestling against Crystal. “Besides, you needed that, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Crystal admitted, “but I’d never want to injure you, angel.”

“I had fun,” Roger told him, “I always have fun with you.”

Once Roger was safely asleep in his arms Crystal murmured, “I love you,” to him. “I love you very much, my angel.”

*

The following evening they had been invited to a dinner party at Lady Bristow’s house. The invitation was for Mr Christopher Taylor and his sister, Miss Rosamond Taylor, if she was in town.

Crystal watched as Phoebe coaxed and teased Roger’s strawberry blond locks into an elaborate style. Roger was sitting on the bed in a chemise, corset and a pair of silk drawers.

Roger had apparently first encountered women wearing drawers in Venice. Crystal had never asked why Roger was abroad or how he had become so well acquainted with what ladies were wearing beneath their dresses. Drawers were not particularly popular amongst English men, although Crystal liked them and he had heard rumours that the King wore them too. They were not customarily worn by English women at all, however, and Roger and Phoebe tended to make Roger’s ladies drawers just as they made most of his female attire.

Part of Crystal wanted to pin Roger to the bed and not bother going to the dinner party. Roger gave him a knowing look as if he could tell exactly what Crystal wanted to do to him. Crystal reached out and touched the side of the corset, admiring the shape it forced Roger’s waist into. 

Phoebe and Roger created all of Roger’s dresses to give him a female silhouette, including the impression of a bust, carefully conjured up by cleverly padded bodices. Crystal often thought that when Roger was pretending to be Crystal’s pretty little sister Rosamond he looked better than most of the women in the room.

Skilled though Phoebe and Roger were at creating clothing some things were beyond them. Rosamond’s shoes and boots were created by a cobbler who had not quite managed to conceal his surprise at the size of Crystal’s sister’s feet. Rosamond also required unusually large gloves. 

She was very pretty though, Crystal thought, as he watched Phoebe help Roger into stockings and underskirts and a pale green dress with froths of lace at the neck and the ends of the sleeves. Crystal envisaged undressing Roger again later and experienced a little thrill of anticipation. 

He offered Roger his arm. “Shall we, my dear?” Roger gave him a sweet smile and nodded.

*

“Rosie, my dear, how lovely to see you!” Lady Bristow swept Roger into her arms, crushing him against her expansive bosom. Crystal tried not to stare at the alarming amount of flesh she was displaying and thought how deliciously modest Roger looked in comparison.

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Lady B,” Roger trilled in the breathy high-pitched voice he adopted on these occasions.

“Oh, it’s always such a pleasure to see you,” Lady Bristow assured him, “and you, of course, Mr Christopher.”

Rosamond was popular with the matronly ladies who frequented these gatherings. They fussed over Rosamond. Roger often picked up useful knowledge from the ladies. They boasted about their new jewellery and what social engagements they planned to wear these decorations to.

Although they had robbed most of the dinner guests at some point they never seemed to be recognised. They wore masks to work, of course, and Roger was dressed as a man when they were working rather than as sweet Rosamond. Even so, Crystal marvelled at how unobservant people tended to be.

He found himself being introduced to Lord and Lady Harcourt and their nephew, Roderick. “They had the most appalling experience a few nights ago,” Lady Bristow told Crystal. “Did you not, my dears? They were set upon by a band of robbers during that dreadful storm.”

“How shocking,” Crystal said, “Did the robbers number many, m ’Lord?”

“At least seven ruffians were involved, Sir,” Lord Harcourt boomed, “We were quite outnumbered, otherwise myself and young Roderick would have seen them off!”

“I don’t doubt it, Sir,” Crystal agreed.

“I do declare,” Lady Bristow said, “the highwaymen are becoming bolder with each passing day. Although I confess that when my own coach was stopped one of them was a perfect gentleman.”

“One of ours had very pleasing manners too,” Lady Harcourt noted. “To be abroad in such a ferocious storm they must be very bold or very desperate,” she added. “The thunder caused our horses to bolt and the carriage overturned. Thankfully, no one suffered any serious injuries.”

*

Roger was seated next to Roderick at dinner. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that Roderick did not fabricate a tale of his heroism during the robbery. “I’m afraid I was not particularly brave, Miss Taylor,” he said.

“I am sure you are being modest, Sir,” Roger cooed. “Was it very dreadful?”

“I would rather not speak of it,” he replied. “Tell me about yourself instead.”

*

Later, the gentlemen played cards. Lord Harcourt snaked his arm around Roger’s waist. “Come and bring an old man some luck, poppet.”

Crystal bristled and stepped forwards to intervene, however before he could do so Lady Harcourt tapped her husband’s shoulder sharply with her fan. “Unhand Miss Taylor at once, Cyril,” she commanded him, “I do apologise, Rosamond, my dear. I’m afraid my husband has quite forgotten himself.”

“No offence meant, my dear child,” Lord Harcourt huffed, “Do come and watch us play, m’ dear. You shall bring me luck, I am certain of it.”

“As you wish, Sir,” Roger agreed.

He looked so sweet and innocent. As if reading Crystal’s mind Roger met his eyes and gave him a little smile. Crystal felt his cock stir very improperly for a man who was supposedly looking at his sister during a polite social occasion. He imagined Roger on his knees in front of him, the dress spreading out around him, his hair escaping from its pins as those pretty lips touched his cock. 

He forced himself to bring his mind back to the card game. He sat at the card table and told himself to focus. 

Roger was standing next to Lord Harcourt. Crystal was fairly certain that Harcourt was groping Roger, the disgusting pervert, and he would have liked to punch Lord Harcourt but they were in polite society so he could not do anything. Nor could sweet little Rosamond. 

Sweet little Rosamond spent most of her time positioned close to Lord Harcourt but she occasionally wandered around the table to peek over the shoulders of the other players too. Crystal watched intently for the little signs Roger gave him indicating what cards the other gentlemen had been dealt.

Lord Harcourt won the first game but his luck ended there. Crystal allowed Roderick to win a couple of games. Then Crystal had a winning streak that left his pockets heavy with coins when he left the table.

He gathered Roger to his side as the cab rattled them homewards. “Thank you for being so wonderful tonight angel.”

*

Roger was tired and his head ached but he knew from previous experience that Crystal would have become aroused by seeing Roger dressed in women’s clothing. He thought of Lady Harcourt’s hair decoration and all the other items he had concealed from Crystal. He would deny Crystal nothing in the bedroom. A little voice inside his head told him that he would deny Crystal nothing in the bedroom in any circumstances and he had to admit that was probably true: he enjoyed being with Crystal, loved him and loved fucking him too much. Crystal was an addiction. 

In their bedroom he sank to his knees in front of Crystal. Crystal’s needs when Roger was dressed as Rosamond were predictable: he’d want a blowjob then he would want Roger bouncing up and down on top of him until Roger’s hair had completely escaped from its pins. Roger’s skirts spread around him like a rippling fabric pool. His fingers touched the buttons of Crystal’s breeches and Crystal gave a needy little gasp. 

Roger slowly, teasingly, unbuttoned Crystal’s breeches until his cock sprang free. Crystal was trembling and his breath hitched as Roger licked his cock. Roger’s own cock hardened in response. “What would Sir like?” Roger asked, still using Rosamond’s high-pitched voice. 

“You...” Crystal gasped. “Oh!” he exclaimed as Roger wrapped his lips around Crystal’s cock. Roger hummed and Crystal shuddered. “I’m not going to last long,” he warned Roger. 

*

He came embarrassingly quickly, barely able to alert Roger beforehand. Roger looked so pretty, with his cheeks flushed and his big blue eyes glistening, his hair just starting to come loose from its pins and his lovely throat moving as he swallowed.

He offered Roger his handkerchief to wipe his mouth with and apologised. “No need to be sorry, love,” Roger assured him, the flush on his cheeks deepening as he confessed, “In truth, when I saw you so excited I came in my drawers.”

“Did you, now?” Crystal placed his hands on Roger’s waist, nipped in by the corset. Roger felt tiny, fragile, in Crystal’s hands yet also curiously armoured. Crystal lifted Roger and placed him gently on the bed. “I don’t believe young ladies are supposed to do such naughty things in their pretty silk undergarments.”

Roger kissed him. He batted his eyelashes at Crystal coquettishly. “But Sir how could I help ruining my drawers when you’re so attractive?”

Crystal kissed him hungrily. “You’re always wearing too many clothes,” he complained as he commenced unfastening the fiddly row of tiny fabric covered buttons down the back of Roger’s dress. He wanted to rip the dress off and to hell with the buttons but that would upset Roger and, more importantly, Phoebe who had spent hours with Roger creating the damn thing. Crystal suspected that an upset Phoebe could make his life very difficult and he had no intention of finding out if this theory was correct. “You’re going to look so pretty when you’re bouncing up and down on my cock, my angel, and your lovely hair is coming undone.”

*

Roger thought dreamily that his hair would not be the only thing coming undone. With Crystal he lost all self-control, losing himself completely to the moment and the sensations that swept over him. From previous experience he reckoned Crystal would want him to keep the corset on. Roger sometimes worried that Crystal found him too flabby without the structure of the corset holding everything in. Roger had been longing to remove the restrictive garment since shortly after he had donned it but if Crystal wanted it then he would keep wearing it. 

Crystal had fallen to his knees to unlace and remove Roger’s boots. He lifted Roger off the bed again and divested him of the unbuttoned dress and his numerous petticoats. Roger was amused to note that Crystal carefully draped the frock and petticoats over a chair, evidently unwilling to risk any displeasure on Phoebe’s part if they were abandoned in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Crystal touched the damp fabric of Roger’s knickers. “Such a filthy little angel,” he growled.

Roger fluttered his eyelashes again. Crystal’s hands were on his waist. “Will you keep the corset on for me, my pretty?” Crystal requested. 

“Yes, Sir,” Roger breathed, struggling to maintain the pitch of Rosamond’s voice.

Crystal pushed Roger’s undergarments down and Roger stepped out of them. Crystal was speedily removing his own clothing and then he flung himself onto the bed, pulling Roger with him.

*

Roger was half-asleep as Crystal gently wiped his skin with a wet cloth. Crystal was murmuring sweet words to him. “You’re my beautiful angel. You’re so good to me, my darling.”

Crystal loved him, Roger thought drowsily. Crystal had said he loved Roger when he had thought Roger was asleep. The words had created a little warm glow inside of him. He had not realised until then how much he had needed to hear Crystal say it. “You’re lovely,” he murmured to Crystal. 

Roger could feel something digging into his back. It was probably one of the scattered hair-pins. Crystal always seemed so thrilled to watch Roger’s hair come loose and anything that gave Crystal pleasure was good, which meant that the following day’s hunt for hair-pins would be worth it. He pressed himself to Crystal’s side as Crystal blew out the candle and lay down.

“Lace,” Roger mumbled before he forgot. “The Duchess of Casterly’s daughter is to be wed and they are getting a good deal of very fine lace for the dresses. Viscount Langley is bringing it next week.”

Crystal grunted. “That’ll be heavily guarded,” he noted. 

“Lady Harcourt suggested it ought to be but the Duchess says the Duke is already outraged by the cost of the lace and so he refuses to pay for an armed guard. They will have two coachmen with fire-arms and one outrider. The Viscount will be in the coach with a French niece who is to attend the nuptials,” Roger informed him. 

“That sounds like rich pickings, angel,” Crystal murmured sleepily. “We ought to think about it.”

*

Roger told Crystal the rest of the dinner party gossip over breakfast. Phoebe had brought them breakfast in bed so Roger was nestled drowsily against Crystal.

He imparted the news that Lady Harcourt’s sister, Mrs Stratton, was coming to stay. She intended to travel by daylight in the hope this would keep her safe.

Crystal sipped his tea and contemplated this news. “She was here last year,” he recalled, “wearing some very nice jewels.” He grinned at Roger. “Perhaps she won’t be as safe during daylight as she expects.”

*

Jim had insisted on accompanying Freddie. “It’s not a nice area of town,” he pointed out.

“Until I met you it was where I lived, darling,” Freddie told him in amusement.

Nevertheless, he felt safer with Jim at his side as they entered the tangle of narrow dirty streets the poorest members of London society called home. He walked quickly and purposefully – it would not do to linger or appear lost in this area. Some of the grubby children loitering in the street recognised him. 

“Got a coin for us, Fred?” one called, before being shoved by an older child. “That’s Mister Freddie to you!”

Freddie smiled at them but hurried on. He gave the usual pattern of knocks on the door of a dwelling that was little more than a hut. An elderly woman peered around a crack in the door, to Freddie’s surprise. “Forgive me, madam, I am looking for a Mr Deacon?”

The crone shook her head. “Not here, m’ dear, he’s gone to the room Mr Barnaby lets in Hancock Lane.”

Freddie frowned. He thanked the old woman and led Jim on, further into the maze of dilapidated streets. “Hancock Lane is a place of last resort,” he told Jim. “Surely they can’t be that impoverished?”

*

The building looked like a ruin to Jim as they approached it. “Mr Barnaby lets the one mostly intact room,” Freddie explained his expression grim. He cautioned Jim to mind where he placed his feet on the rotten wooden steps that led up to the room. 

“Who goes there?” a voice called, evidently having heard the creaks and groans of the steps. 

“It’s me, Freddie,” Freddie called back. “Jim is with me,” he added. 

The door was opened by an unseen hand, admitting them into a small room. A small fire burned in the fireplace, not throwing out much heat. The room contained a mattress on which a figure lay covered by a holey blanket. Jim could not tell if the person on the mattress was male or female, adult or child, he could see only a shock of dark curls.

Other than the mattress the room was bare save for a wooden chair near the fire. John Deacon, Trip’s assistant, was standing in the centre of the room. He looked hopefully at Freddie.

“My dear, why have you moved here?” Freddie asked, unable to keep the dismay from his voice.

John glanced towards the figure in the bed. “The latest treatment seems to be doing some good,” he told Freddie, “but the herbs required are very expensive. Please, do you have anything from Roger?”

“Roger gave me a very handsome piece to sell the other day,” Freddie told him, “It fetched an excellent price.” He produced a purse and handed it to John. “It should keep you for a while.”

Jim looked around the room. He noted a hole in the ceiling he could see daylight through. Some floorboards were missing. “You can’t stay here,” he told John firmly. He glanced at Freddie. “You must come and stay with us.”

*

“I can wash those,” Roger protested as Phoebe picked up his drawers from the floor.

Phoebe grinned. “I’ve washed all sorts of stains out of your clothing over the years, Roger,” he pointed out. “There’s no need to be embarrassed now.”

Roger flushed because he was embarrassed. “I might’ve been a little over-excited last night,” he mumbled.

Phoebe ruffled his hair. “How sweet,” he teased Roger, “Like a virgin on her wedding night!”

“Hardly,” Roger huffed, resuming his search for hair-pins amongst the bed-clothes. 

“Are you trying to gather up hair-pins?” Phoebe asked. “Would you like a hand?”

“Oh, yes please,” Roger smiled at him, “they’re so small!”

Phoebe frowned. “Really, Crystal ought to get you some corrective lenses,” he told Roger.

“Crystal is very generous to me as it is,” Roger told Phoebe. His voice was sharper than he had intended it to be – he was sensitive to any implied criticism of Crystal, especially if it involved a suggestion that Crystal might be tight-fisted, when in fact Roger was taking money from Crystal. “Sorry, Phoebe, I didn’t mean to snap. Eye-glasses would be very expensive and I manage very well without them.”

“You manage, perhaps,” Phoebe snorted, “but I would hesitate to agree that you manage well. And Crystal would do anything for you. He’d get you new hair-pins too!”

Roger laughed, although he felt guilty when he considered how much Crystal loved him and how he was keeping secrets from Crystal. “I expect he would,” he agreed, “but I still don’t want to keep finding hair-pins in the bed.”

“Where is Crystal?” Phoebe wondered. 

Roger flushed again. “He said he was going to get me a gift,” he told Phoebe, feeling almost shy. 

Phoebe ruffled his hair again. “You deserve all the gifts in the world,” he told Roger. 

Roger silently disagreed. He didn’t deserve any gifts. He was a terrible person. What kind of person accepted gifts from a man he was effectively stealing from? He shook his head.

“Roger, you deserve everything nice and pretty and luxurious,” Phoebe told him firmly, “even if you don’t think that you do.”

*

Crystal whistled as he walked along. It was a dull damp day but he felt buoyant. He was going to get Roger some lovely treats. Flowers, perhaps, he could go to Covent Garden and get some bright, cheerful flowers to brighten a dull day. Would Roger like hair ribbons? Had he taken Lady Harcourt’s hair decoration because he wanted pretty things for his lovely hair? Crystal didn’t think Roger would do that – he could never have worn the hair jewel in public, after all. Unless he had wanted to wear it for Crystal in private, but Roger had never worn any of the other things that had gone missing and none of them had been hair ornaments. Roger must have been taking those items for their monetary value. So once again Crystal returned to the question of why Roger wanted the money. He continued on his way, no longer feeling quite so buoyant.

*

John had resisted at first. With a stubborn tilt of his chin he had declined Jim’s kind offer of accommodation. 

Jim had noted that he could not possibly want to stay in the hovel they had found him in. He had explained that the house he shared with Freddie had two bedrooms, to keep up appearances, but since they only used one of those bedrooms themselves there would be plenty of room for John and his curly-haired companion. 

John had pointed out that Jim had never met him before, not properly. Jim had noted that any friend of Freddie and Roger’s was a friend of his.

John had then told him that they could not pay any more in rent than they were paying on the hovel. “We don’t want any rent,” Jim had said, “but I cannot in good conscience allow you to stay here.”

*

John’s companion was called Brian and he was plainly ill, requiring the support of both John and Jim to shuffle from the hovel to the waiting cab. The cab fare was double the usual amount as the cab-man had refused to go to Hancock Lane without what he called a “danger payment”. Luckily, as neither John nor Brian had much in the way of belongings they only needed to make one cab journey. 

Brian slumped in an armchair once John and Jim had gently assisted him into his new home. Their maid, Delilah, who had been hired partially because she was so discreet in addition to being hard-working, was unfazed by the arrival of two more gentlemen and quickly prepared the guest room for them.

Jim had gathered that John spent almost all of his wages plus any additional sums Roger managed to find for him on medicine for Brian. “He won’t steal from Trip,” Freddie explained, looking slightly puzzled at this moral stance, “and he refuses to take money from me. I’m so glad you persuaded them to stay here, you’re such an amazing man.”

“Why does he accept money from Roger, then?” Jim wondered, after a brief pleasurable moment when Freddie had showed his appreciation with several affectionate kisses. 

“Roger grew up with Brian,” Freddie explained, “and they are like brothers. Besides, Roger is impossible to refuse.”

“A lot of people wouldn’t do that for their actual flesh and blood brothers,” Jim noted.

“Roger isn’t like most people,” Freddie told him and Jim supposed that was true. Freddie was not like other people either so perhaps their firm friendship was forged in their ‘otherness’ which was, Jim thought, rooted in kindness or goodness. 

Roger was unaware how Brian and John had been living, John confessed to them over dinner. “The money he gives us so generously is intended to help us live better,” he said, “but the herbs seem to be working, Brian is improving.” He gave Brian an adoring look. “A reduction in comfort was necessary to continue with the treatment and I could not tell Roger. He has already given us so much and I know he would have felt compelled to give even more which I simply could not allow.”

“Well,” Freddie said brightly, “now you don’t have to, dear!”


	2. We’ll Keep On Smiling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guns are fired and (probably quite unrealistic) knife wounds are sustained.

England 1699

In the square at Covent Garden there was a man with a sign proclaiming that the end of the world was nigh. He was shouting hoarsely that the world would end on New Year’s Eve. They would never see the sun rise on the first of January 1700.

Crystal supposed that was true. There was little chance of seeing a sunrise on any day in London and in January seeing the sun at all seemed unlikely. He hoped he would have time for a drink before the world ended. Neither the end of a century nor the end of the world seemed like the sort of occasions to be embarked upon while sober. He could fuck Roger into the next century (or the afterlife if the man with the sign was correct) and this thought cheered him immensely. 

“We are living in the end times,” the man howled. 

“I wish ‘e’d shut up,” one of the flower sellers muttered, adding a brighter, “Can I ‘elp you, Sir?” to Crystal. 

“I require red roses,” Crystal told her, “for my love.”

“How sweet,” the flower seller cooed, “A dozen?”

*

Miami opened the door and reached for Crystal’s parcels. Roger appeared behind him wearing a night-shirt. His eyes widened. “Are those for me?” he gasped.

Crystal bowed and offered Roger the bunch of velvety dark red roses. “A dozen red roses for my darling,” he said.

“Oh, how lovely, thank you!” Roger buried his nose in the bouquet, inhaling the scent.

“The parcels are for you, too,” Crystal told him, suddenly feeling slightly foolish. 

Roger’s face lit up. “All of these, for me?” He handed the flowers to Phoebe, who had also arrived, and sat on the floor reaching towards Miami who handed Roger one of the parcels.

Miami set all of the packages on the floor next to Roger, rumpled his hair affectionately and left with Phoebe and the flowers. Phoebe was murmuring something about finding a vase. 

Crystal sank to his knees next to Roger. The tiled floor felt cold. He slid his hand along Roger’s bare leg, pushing the fabric of his night-shirt up along his thigh. “Ribbons,” Roger declared, having un-wrapped his first parcel. “You must braid my hair later.”

Crystal liked playing with Roger’s hair. He supposed that gift was really for him rather than Roger and felt slightly guilty. “They’re such pretty colours,” Roger said, “The green velvet is gorgeous.”

“You’re gorgeous,” Crystal told him. “Aren’t you cold?”

Roger looked at him. He looked so happy that Crystal felt his heart might explode. “My bum’s a bit chilly,” he laughed.

Crystal removed his coat and put it on Roger. He sat down next to Roger and pulled him onto his lap. His arms fastened around Roger’s waist and his chin came to rest on Roger’s shoulder.

Roger peeled open the next package to reveal a dark pink fringed shawl. “It’s beautiful,” he breathed.

“You’re beautiful,” Crystal assured him, nuzzling his neck.

The remaining parcel contained a knife snugly tucked into a leather case. Crystal had owed Roger a knife. A drunken Duke had taken aim at Crystal out of a coach window on one of their recent jobs. Crystal had stared at the barrel of the gun and waited for his world to end. Then Roger had thrown a knife with great precision so it sliced into the Duke’s hand and thwarted his thoughts of killing a highwayman. It had given Crystal enormous satisfaction to take the Duke’s gun. Roger had been very annoyed that he had not pulled the knife from the Duke’s hand. (“You’re remarkably squeamish for someone who carries out armed robberies for a living, Crys.”) But the knife had been stuck right through the man’s hand and Crystal had felt sick at the sight of it and had been quite unable to remove it.

“Excellent,” Roger said happily, making a little jabbing motion with the knife. “Thank you for your generosity, Crystal, this is too much, really it is.”

“Oh,” Crystal rummaged in the pockets of the coat Roger was now wearing, causing Roger to giggle, “and I acquired this...” He produced a bar of soap.

Roger took it and brought it close to his nose, taking a deep breath. “It smells like honey, how divine!” he murmured.

“You’re divine,” Crystal informed him, “you’re my angel,” he said, kissing Roger’s earlobe.

*

Sleety rain was falling as they waited, under a tree again, for the coach containing the lace. Roger shivered. 

“Here they come,” Crystal muttered and now Roger could hear the sound of horse’s hooves approaching.

They rarely used their pistols but Crystal shot the outrider in the shoulder, causing him to tumble from his horse. Roger retrieved the outrider’s pistol. Crystal was yelling, “Stand and deliver!” to the coachmen. Three more shots rang out.

Crystal had shot one of the coachmen in the arm and the man was moaning, clutching his arm, still sitting up on the coach behind the horses. There was no sign of the other coachman. Crystal was opening the coach door to rob the occupants, crying “Your money or your life!” as he did so. 

Roger clambered on to the coach. He could now see the other coachman, a motionless heap on the ground on the other side of the coach. Roger felt slightly nauseous. Had Crystal killed the man? If so, it must have been an accident. They did not usually shoot to kill.

“You shot him!” the coachman who was still on the coach gasped. “You shot me!” he added, sounding as if he could hardly believe it.

“Sorry about that,” Roger told him truthfully. He began to un-strap the baggage and flung it to the ground. 

“You ruffians!” the coachman howled, making a clumsy effort to stop Roger.

“I do apologise,” Roger said, kicking the man off the coach. He landed heavily on the ground near his colleague and gave a screech of pain.

Roger released the coach horses and began to tear open the luggage, hastily transferring the contents into the bags he had brought with him. He glanced at Crystal, who still had his gun trained on the occupants of the carriage and made a gesture towards Roger which meant ‘hurry up’ in their non verbal language. 

Roger loaded the bags he had filled onto Meg. “Thank you,” he said to her. He wrenched open the carriage door opposite the one Crystal was at.

The dark haired French niece was beautiful. “Forgive the intrusion, my dear lady,” he said.

“Fuck you!” she responded furiously.

The older man in the carriage gasped. “Such language, my dear!” he protested. He glared at Crystal, who was levelling a gun at him. “This is outrageous! You’ll hang for this!”

Roger kissed the lady’s hand. “A pleasure to do business with you,” he told her. She snatched her hand away.

He rode the outrider’s horse, speeding after Crystal who was mounted on Stranger and leading Meg, who was being used as a pack-horse for this job. They were heading for the cottage. Ratty would dispose of the outrider’s horse for them and his brother-in-law, Gerry, would be able to get them a good price for the lace. 

“I’m certain one of the coachmen pissed themselves,” Crystal called to him as he came within earshot.

Roger snorted. “Sure you are.” 

Crystal gave him a wicked grin and winked. “I’m absolutely positive,” he said.

Roger laughed. “Fine, then, I’ll see to the horses.”

“And...?”

“Hah! You know you don’t need to win a bet to get me into bed,” Roger laughed. He felt euphoric. They had carried out their job successfully. He had not realised until now how worried he had been about this robbery. 

“Under the terms of the bet you must do as I say,” Crystal reminded him.

“I always do as you say!” Roger called back happily. 

*

“You don’t have to,” Crystal told Roger as he unbuttoned his shirt, slipping the soft material off Roger’s shoulders and encountering his under-shirt. “You are always wearing too many damn clothes!”

“So are you,” Roger replied placidly. “I don’t have to do what?”

“You don’t have to do as I say,” Crystal muttered.

Roger laughed and kissed him. “I love you,” he told Crystal.

*

Ratty’s brother-in-law, Gerry, nodded appreciatively at the lace. “This is very good quality,” he told them, “and you have a sizeable quantity.”

Roger tuned out as Crystal negotiated a sum of money up front and a share of the profits once Gerry had sold the lace. He was including in the deal most of the other clothing which had been in the luggage. Roger felt slightly bad about taking the French niece’s nice things.

He slipped his hand into his pocket of his breeches and touched the gold ring he had taken from the French lady. It was set with an amber stone. She had glared at him although even she had softened a little towards him when he kissed her hand. Well-mannered thieves were surprisingly popular.

Amber probably wouldn’t fetch all that much but John and Brian should be okay for a while having received the money from the hair decoration. Roger turned his attention back to Crystal who was concluding their business with Gerry and discussing the sale of the outrider’s horse with Ratty.

*

“Do I know you?” puzzled the French niece, Dominique, across the tea-table, “Have we met before?”

Rosamond had been invited to take tea with Lady Bristow and Dominique was amongst the ladies present. It was a women-only gathering. “I do not believe we have met before, m’ lady,” Roger replied in Rosamond’s breathy tones.

“We were held up on our way here,” Dominique told him, “and so I have had to borrow clothing.” She glanced with distaste at the plain blue dress she was wearing. “Your English fashions are so dull,” she pouted, adding hastily, “with the exception of your own attire, of course, which is very pleasing.”

“The robbery must have been very distressing for you,” Roger said.

She nodded. “The servants were all injured, although none were killed, thankfully. One of the coachmen struck his head when he fell from the carriage after being shot,” her eyes widened as she said the word ‘shot’, perhaps considering how outlandish people getting shot seemed in this genteel setting over cups of tea. “They are all recovering well, however.” She sighed. “I suppose the loss of some scraps of material is not so very hard compared to serious injury.”

“Indeed,” Roger agreed, sipping his tea. It was very good tea so, like Freddie, Lady Bristow presumably knew a reputable smuggler. Or perhaps she paid a lot of money for her tea supplies. He was enormously relieved to find that they had not killed the coachman. He helped himself to one of the little cakes on the table in celebration. 

“My aunt is most upset about the loss of the lace intended for the costumes for my cousin’s wedding,” Dominique continued, “she is very cross with my uncle as he did not provide greater protection for us.”

“How awful,” Roger murmured. The Duke had squeezed Rosamond’s bum at a picnic during the summer and Roger was delighted to hear that his formidable wife was making her displeasure with him known.

“What upsets me the most is the ring the bad man took,” Dominique sighed. “It was not worth so very much but my Mama gave it to me before her death so it was treasured by me.”

“It grieves me to hear it,” Roger told her, hoping that she would not describe the ring. If it was the amber ring he would have to contrive a way of re-uniting her with it.

“It was a little diamond and ruby ring,” she told him, “very little stones so not worth much but I liked it very much. The uncouth man took it.”

“The uncouth man,” Roger echoed, feeling giddy with relief that it was not the ring he had taken that was causing her sadness. He realised that there was no way to give the other ring back to her without Rosamond coming under some suspicion. Dominique had told Rosamond how much she treasured the ring. If it appeared then presumably the thieves had heard about that. Therefore who had Rosamond been speaking to? He added the ring to the list of things he felt guilty about. 

“One of them was most uncouth,” Dominique told him, wrinkling her nose. “The other kissed my hand and had much more pleasant manners despite being a thief.”

*

“I was lovely to her,” Crystal protested, his hands caressing Roger’s corseted waist. Roger was straddling him on the bed, his pretty face flushed, his hair coming undone.

Roger shook his head, scattering hair-pins and fuelling Crystal’s lust. “You were uncouth,” he told Crystal gleefully.

“I was my usual charming self to her,” Crystal huffed.

*

“The coachman who fell had hit his head but he is alive,” Roger told him later, cradled in Crystal’s arms.

“Good,” Crystal said. He stroked Roger’s hair, plucking out a stray hair-pin, still clinging stubbornly to Roger’s locks. “He was waving a gun about,” he told Roger, “so I had to shoot. You know I always try not to do too much damage.”

“I know,” Roger agreed.

“It’s hard,” Crystal said, kissing the top of Roger’s head. He thought about the little amber ring in the pocket of Roger’s breeches. The French woman had told Crystal she could not remove it from her finger but Roger had apparently managed to pry it from her. He ought to ask Roger about it. “Maybe once we have robbed Lady Harcourt’s sister we ought to hang up our masks and lead respectable lives,” he suggested instead. 

*

It was mid-afternoon but the sky was so dark it might as well have been the night time, Roger reflected. It always seemed to be raining when they were skulking waiting for unsuspecting travellers these days. 

Due to the route Lady Harcourt’s sister was taking they were lurking in an area they did not normally work in. While it was not entirely unfamiliar territory – they had worked here before – their lack of an intimate knowledge of the landscape here was making Roger uneasy. He told himself he was being silly, of course. It was ridiculous to think that their run of good luck must be about to end.

Meg snorted and her breath was visible in the cold air. Roger patted her neck affectionately.

They waited.

*

There were two outriders, which was unexpected. Roger glanced anxiously at Crystal, hoping he might give the signal to abort but he did not.

A shot rang out. It had come from one of the outriders, Roger realised and he took aim even before the realisation was fully formed in his mind. Before he could squeeze the trigger another shot rang out and the outrider slumped in his saddle.

A quick glance to the right told Roger that Crystal had shot the other outrider too. One of the coachmen was aiming a shotgun at Crystal and Roger fired at him, hitting his hand so that he dropped his gun.

The coach slowed. Crystal fired at the other coachman. Roger hoped the haul would be worth such bloodshed. 

The lady was unaccompanied and terrified. “No need to be alarmed, m’ lady,” Roger assured her. He offered her the black velvet bag. “If you would be so kind as to place your lovely jewellery in here, m’ dear, thank you so much.” She was visibly shaking and he felt guilty. He slipped a diamond and sapphire bracelet into the pocket of his breeches rather than the bag. “It’s been a pleasure, m’ lady,” he told her, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. 

Crystal had left the scene first, as always. Roger fastened the black velvet bag onto Meg’s saddle and was about to swing himself onto her back when something struck his shoulder. He slapped Meg’s rump. “Follow Stranger,” he told Meg and was relieved when she seemed to understand that he wanted her to move and that he was not going with her. Crystal had not looked back and Roger hoped he would not. He wanted Crystal to be well away, to be safe, before he realised Roger had been stupid enough to get caught.

There had apparently been a third outrider, lagging behind the coach for some reason. Or perhaps this man had simply come across them at an unlucky moment. Whatever the truth of the matter was the man had thrown a knife which had sliced neatly through Roger’s shoulder and which the man was now pulling out causing a fierce pain that forced Roger onto his knees in the mud. The man ripped off Roger’s cloth mask. “Roger!” he gasped.

*

They had an agreement. If one of them was captured the other would stay away. They would not risk their lives for each other.

Of course they had thought they were invincible. Neither of them had ever expected to be captured.

And now Crystal knew he would do anything to get Roger back. He would happily risk his life to save Roger.

He only wished he knew where Roger was.

*

“Where is Roger?” Miami and Phoebe had cried in panicky unison when he had arrived home alone.

Crystal shook his head. “He was not on Meg,” he told them, “I returned to the site of the robbery but the coach had gone and there was no sign of Roger. I fear he has been captured.”

Miami slapped his face. Phoebe began to cry.

*

Roger was not in any of the prisons. It made no sense. If he had been killed then why had his body not been strung up on the nearest tree as a warning – the usual fate of a highwayman killed at work - or simply left by the side of the road as a tasty snack for the local wildlife. No one would take a dead body with them, surely?

*

Roger grimaced at the pain in his shoulder. He could move it, which was a good sign, he thought. A clean cloth had been tied around it, which was also good, although the cloth was now soaked with blood. 

He was in a soft bed in a plain but nicely furnished room. That was a surprisingly bad thing.

“Roger!” the man with the knife had exclaimed.

“Oh, it’s you,” Roger had groaned.

His luck had well and truly run out now. He’d been captured by the man Crystal had liberated him from.

“Oh, it’s you, Sir,” the man had snapped.

“Fuck you,” Roger had spat at him which had earned him a punch to his injured shoulder. The pain had caused him to pass out.

When he had come to he had been tied up and thrown across the back of a horse the man was leading, gagged with his own mask. He had heard the man, Sir Cecil, inform someone Roger could not see that he had had been injured in the attack. “I shall take good care of him, do not fear,” he was saying. Roger could hear him explaining to the unknown person that the highwaymen had unfortunately got away.

Now, Roger flinched as the bedroom door was flung open. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” Cecil smirked, flinging off his robe and exposing his flabby naked body. “I’ve missed having my own personal whore.”

*

Crystal bowed to Lady Bristow. “I regret that Rosamond has gone to visit an ill aunt for a few days,” he told her. His stomach was churning. Would this social group have any useful information? Was this just a waste of time? But what else could he do? Could he even do this? He felt as if he might vomit or burst into tears (or perhaps both) at any moment. It was Roger-as-Rosamond who was skilled in getting information at these gatherings. Where was Roger?

Had Roger simply left him?

He had voiced that thought out loud earlier. “Why would you even think that?” Phoebe had cried. “Roger adores you.”

Crystal had tearfully explained about the missing items. Miami had frowned. “You didn’t split the takings with him?” he had growled. 

“He could have had all of the money if he had wanted it!” Crystal had snapped. “We never had a proper conversation about money...” He had started to cry then and had thought dismally how pathetic they must think him. 

Miami had patted his shoulder. “Phoebe is right” he had told Crystal gruffly, “Roger is very much in love with you. I don’t know what has happened to him but he has not left you voluntarily.”

*

Lady Bristow introduced him to Lady Harcourt’s sister, Mrs Stratton. “We’ve met before, I believe,” Crystal told her as he brushed her gloved hands with his lips.

“Oh, of course,” Mrs Stratton recalled, “your darling sister was with you.”

Crystal wished very much that his darling sister was with him now. Rosamond would charm all their secrets from them. He explained that his fictitious sister was visiting their even more imaginary aunt.

“Oh, I do hope she had ample protection on her journey?” Mrs Stratton cried. “I was travelling in broad daylight and was robbed!”

“How awful,” Crystal said. Her concern for his sister, a fellow lone female traveller, made him feel guilty for having robbed her. “Had you no one to protect you, my dear lady?”

“I had hired two guards who were both killed,” she told him, in a trembling voice. “One died instantly. My cousin, Sir Cecil Daveny, was also with me but had fallen behind. He did not arrive in time to stop or apprehend the highwaymen but he did attempt to save the life of one of the guards. He took him home with him but, alas, there was nothing that could be done for the poor man.”

“How tragic,” Crystal murmured. He felt sick again. He knew where Roger was now, he thought grimly. 

*

Roger had forcibly resisted Sir Cecil’s advances and was now chained to a wall in the cellar. Roger had initially been jubilant at thwarting Cecil but now, chained to the wall of a locked room, stripped to his drawers he was starting to wonder if he had done the right thing.

He had fought Cecil and had been subdued only when Cecil had punched his knife wound again. He had now added a black eye, what felt like several broken ribs and numerous bruises to his list of injuries. Would he be able to escape? Cecil would want to bed him at some point and would presumably un-chain him so he could fuck Roger in a more comfortable setting. Could Roger over-power him? He suspected not. The knife-wound was a weakness Cecil had already used to his advantage twice.

Should he have played along with Cecil? The thought of Cecil touching him made him feel physically sick. He only wanted Crystal to touch him in that way now. When he had been with Cecil before he had met Crystal he had been allowed a certain amount of freedom. If he played along now would Cecil allow him such freedoms and give him a chance to escape? Roger suspected not. When he had been with Cecil before he had known there would be dire consequences for someone else if he left. He had been restrained by a mental tether rather than a physical one. He could not imagine Cecil taking that chance now. 

*

Phoebe looked blankly at Crystal. Miami growled, “That fucker,” and glanced at Phoebe. “You remember, love, he’s the bastard Madame sold Roger to.”

“Sold?” Crystal echoed as Phoebe gasped.

“Sir Cecil Daveny bought Roger from the House of Delights,” Miami confirmed. “A large amount of money changed hands. I doubt Roger got any of it. I’ve always thought Daveny threatened Madame in some way, though. She regarded the delights as her family and I doubt she would have sold Roger without being forced: he was always one of her favourites.”

Phoebe nodded. “She loved Roger like a son. She would not have given him to that horrible man unless she had no other choice.”

Miami turned a stern gaze on Crystal. “Is Roger’s history something else you’ve never discussed?”

Crystal glared at him. “Roger’s past is his own business,” he sniffed.

“Please,” Phoebe beseeched them, “we all want to get Roger home safely. How do we achieve that?”

*

Crystal thought of when he had first met Roger. He had pulled open a carriage door and discovered the most gorgeous man he had ever seen on his knees with his mouth full of a richly dressed man’s cock. Crystal had taken the rich man’s expensive rings and pocket watch and had asked the whore if they would like to come with him.

The whore – or was he an angel – he looked like an angel – did not have a jangling full coin purse. “Hadn’t he paid you yet?” Crystal had asked, feeling a pang of guilt.

“He doesn’t pay me,” the whore had replied simply. “He’s kind of been keeping me captive.”

The whore had been sitting in front of Crystal on the horse. Not Stranger at that point, not then. They’d been riding a horse called Silk, Crystal’s arm tightly holding the gorgeous man. “You can stay with me, if you should like to,” he had invited the whore, marvelling at his recklessness in extending such an invitation to his unknown companion even as the words spilled from his lips.

“Thank you,” his new, completely unknown, almost certainly criminal and possibly dangerous companion said, adding, “I’m Roger and I’d love to stay with you for a while.”

*

“Don’t move,” Crystal cautioned the man as he grunted and opened his eyes. Sir Cecil reeked of alcohol and stale sweat. Crystal touched he blade of his knife to Sir Cecil’s neck and heard the hiss as Sir Cecil’s bladder gave way. The smell of piss assaulted Crystal’s nostrils seconds later. “Don’t say a word or I’ll slit your throat,” Crystal warned him. “You will take me to Roger. Roger will be leaving with me. If you ever come anywhere near Roger ever again I will hunt you down and kill you.”

Crystal allowed Sir Cecil to get up. “Do you need keys to release Roger?” he asked.

“They’re in my pocket,” Sir Cecil whimpered, gesturing to the pocket of the now piss-sodden breeches he had apparently fallen into bed wearing.

“Good. If you make a noise or try to escape I will slit your throat.” Crystal positioned himself behind the man and placed the knife at his throat. “I would advise you to tread carefully. Lead on.”

*

Roger moved as far from the door as he could when he heard the keys jingle in the lock. He stood, aching, fingering the heavy chain tethering him to the ring on the wall. Could he swing the chain at Cecil? Would Cecil unfasten him?

Cecil entered shuffling awkwardly, snivelling and holding a lantern in a badly shaking hand, which revealed that he had wet his breeches. The light glinted off the knife at Cecil’s throat and Roger could have wept with relief: Crystal had come for him!

Cecil unlocked his ankle chains and the cuffs around Roger’s wrists with trembling hands. He squealed when Crystal slammed him against the wall, pinning him there while Roger locked the metal restraints into place around Cecil’s own ankles and wrists. It gave him great satisfaction to gag Cecil. 

*

Crystal put his coat on Roger and clamped his arm firmly around Roger’s shoulders. He escorted Roger to the carelessly ajar pantry window he’d used to enter the premises.

It was a little like the first time they’d met, Crystal reflected as he curved his arm around Roger, who was in front of him on Stranger. “I love you, Roger,” he blurted out. 

“I love you, too,” Roger replied. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

“When I realised you were gone... I love you...” Crystal gulped. Now that he had said it once, aloud and while Roger could hear him, he could not stop saying it, apparently.

*

The hall was full of people. Roger had expected Phoebe and Miami but not Trip, John and Freddie. He pulled Crystal’s coat tightly around himself, acutely aware that he only had his drawers on beneath it.

Everyone seemed to call his name at once and he shrank against Crystal, who wrapped both arms around him. “Thank you for coming, Trip,” Crystal said. His voice was icy. “I was not expecting you, Mr Deacon, or you Freddie.”

Trip looked apologetic. “I thought it would be beneficial for John to be here to assist with any injuries Roger may have, if he will allow it.”

“And when Trip called at the house for John and explained the situation I simply had to accompany them,” Freddie gasped. “Darling Roger, have you been hurt?”

Roger twisted in Crystal’s arms so he could see Freddie. “Why were you with John?” he puzzled.

This provoked a chorus of, “Do you two know each other?” directed towards him and John. It was all too much. Roger signalled to Crystal that he was about to pretend to faint.

*

Crystal lifted Roger in his arms and swept upstairs with him. Everyone seemed to be trailing after them. Roger could hear Phoebe offering to fill the bath. Miami was asking if bandages would be required. Freddie was aghast at the idea that Roger might require bandages. John asked bluntly, “Has he been raped?”

Crystal halted for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted. His voice sounded strained. Roger gently pressed his fingers against Crystal’s chest and made a sign Crystal ought to recognise as one of their non-verbal signals for ‘no’. Crystal pressed a kiss to the top of his head and started to walk again.

*

Roger had a bath. Crystal managed to clear the room of other people so it was just the two of them. He knelt by the bath and gently soaped Roger (rose scented soap) and washed his hair. Phoebe appeared occasionally with more hot water and warmed towels. 

Then Trip and John were there, as Roger stood naked in the bedroom, his eyes fixed on Crystal who was pacing up and down by the window as Trip and John examined him. Roger discovered he could not speak. Trip seemed to realise this quickly and asked Roger questions he could answer by nodding or shaking his head.

“You have extensive bruising, a couple of broken ribs and the shoulder injury,” Trip concluded.

Crystal sat next to Roger on the bed while John applied ointment to his bruises and bandaged his ribs. Trip cleaned the knife wound, sutured it and bandaged it up again. It hurt quite a lot and Roger was grateful for Crystal’s steady reassuring presence.

Crystal found a night-shirt for Roger and helped him into it before tucking him into bed. He left the room and Roger was alone until Phoebe appeared with a warming stone for the bed. Phoebe was still sitting watching over him when Roger drifted off to sleep. 

*

Roger awakened with a little gasp of fear. “You’re safe,” Crystal assured him, “You’re with me.” Roger nestled against him and went back to sleep.

The next time Roger awakened Crystal was playing with his hair. “You won our bet,” Roger murmured drowsily, “but I fell asleep.”

“Don’t fret about it, angel,” Crystal said, “You focus on getting better. There’ll be ample time later for me to order you about in bed.”

“You came to get me,” Roger marvelled, still drowsy. “You rescued me and I have been taking money from you and I don’t deserve you,” he blurted out.

Crystal stroked his hair. “All I have is yours,” he told Roger. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could ask me for money. I’m sorry to have taken control of our finances. That wasn’t intentional, I assure you.” Crystal pressed his lips to the top of Roger’s head.

Roger wriggled into a sitting position. He felt much more awake now. “I found it easier to just let you control everything,” he told Crystal. “Which I think may have been very selfish of me. I did not want that responsibility.”

Crystal kissed him gently. “May I ask why you did not feel you could ask for money?”

Roger sighed. “I have been giving it to a friend. I thought you might object, I suppose.”

Crystal frowned. “You think I would deny assistance to someone you care for?” he asked. 

“I know you think me frivolous,” Roger told him, “and I feared you would judge my friend for requiring assistance.”

“I don’t think you frivolous!” Crystal objected. “When have I ever made you think that? Whatever have I done to make you say that?”

“You called me bird-brained when we were speaking to Ratty,” Roger pointed out, “You think my interests lie in hair-ribbons and shawls and... and... Oh, I don’t know, Crys!”

“That was just a silly comment,” Crystal cried, “I did not intend to hurt your feelings, I’m sure, Roger.” He glared at Roger, “I bought you a knife,” he reminded him. “I am well aware you are not all hair-ribbons and shawls.”

Roger supposed this was true. He wanted to argue but was not sure what to say. “I see us as partners,” Crystal continued. “You are my perfect match. We have complementary skills. I am a better shot and you are better at throwing a knife. You are better at charming secrets from people and I am better at picking pockets. You look pretty in hair-ribbons and your antics are causing me to lose my hair.” 

Roger grinned. “Don’t make me laugh when I am cross with you,” he huffed.

“It’s one of my skills,” Crystal said, kissing him gently. “Rog, do you really believe I find you frivolous? I promise you that I don’t. I like braiding your hair with pretty hair-ribbons. Does that make me frivolous? It was I who spent our money on these items.”

Roger sighed. “Perhaps it has less to do with you and more to do with how I view myself,” he suggested unhappily.

“I confess I am hurt that you believe I would judge your friend harshly,” Crystal said.

Roger gave a little huff of annoyance. “Perhaps that also stems from my own feelings. My friends are exceedingly irritating.”

Crystal’s lips quirked, “Are they, my dear?”

“I cannot fault Brian for falling ill, of course. I can fault him for not seeking assistance sooner, although that may have been due to John’s stubbornness.” Roger sighed. 

“John Deacon?” Crystal asked. “Is he the friend you have been giving your money to?”

Roger nodded. “John is my friend Brian’s partner. Brian is more like a brother to me. We grew up together.”

He said no more as Phoebe arrived to see if they were awake and ready for breakfast. 

*

Roger surveyed his face in the looking glass. “I shall have no outings as Rosamond until the bruises on my face have healed,” he noted. 

“Rosamond is visiting an ailing aunt,” Crystal told him.

“You have called on Lady Bristow without me?” Roger pouted.

Crystal slid his arms around Roger’s waist. “That’s how I discovered where you were,” he explained. “I missed you terribly. Charming information out of people is one of your invaluable skills and something I am very poor at.”

“Flattery is one of your skills,” Roger laughed. 

*

Freddie paid them a visit in the afternoon. Roger wasted no time with polite chit-chat. “Freddie, why were you with John Deacon last night when Trip came to fetch him? I did not know you knew Mr Deacon so well?”

Freddie glanced at Crystal and looked pointedly at Roger. “Crystal is aware that I have been giving money to John and Brian,” Roger assured him.

Freddie looked relieved. “John says his most recent treatment has been helping Brian,” he explained, “but the ingredients he requires for the tonic are a great expense. When I took them the most recent payment from you they were living in a hovel so Jim suggested they ought to come and stay with us.”

Roger frowned. “I am surprised John agreed to that.”

“I was too, dear, but Jim can be most persuasive. I believe that last night, after we left here, Trip asked John to explain how he knew you and when John explained the situation Trip offered favourable rates on the ingredients required for Brian’s medicines. He would have offered before, of course, but John had never mentioned his difficulties.”

Roger sighed. “I did suggest he ought to tell Trip,” he muttered. 

“At least they are getting help now. More excitingly, have you heard the news about Sir Cecil?” Freddie asked. When they shook their heads, he continued, “He’s been imprisoned!”

“He’s in prison?” Crystal gasped. 

“Sir Cecil was not in his bed this morning,” Freddie told them, “as I expect you may know. Following a search of the house he was still missing. The servants called the watchman. The watchman discovered hidden cells down in the cellars which the servants had been quite unaware of. They found Sir Cecil chained up in one of these cells. The others contained poor wretches who claimed to have been imprisoned by Sir Cecil and hired to his friends to entertain them.”

“Oh, how awful,” Roger gasped. “We did not know there were others or we should have freed them too!”

Crystal placed a protective arm around Roger’s shoulders. “They are safe now, love, don’t distress yourself.”

“Sir Cecil is currently in Newgate,” Freddie told them. “He is also suspected of being a highwayman.” He gave a gleeful chuckle at the looks on their faces. “He had a bracelet in the pocket of his breeches, apparently, that has been identified as belonging to a Mrs Stratton who was robbed by highwaymen the other day.”

Roger looked appalled. “But that’s a hanging offence!” he cried. “I cannot let him hang for a crime I committed!”

“He shan’t, my dear,” Freddie assured him. “Mrs Stratton has already said that she is certain it was not Sir Cecil who took her bracelet. And already there are stories circulating claiming he mysteriously had no knowledge of the poor souls imprisoned in his house. He claims he was dragged from his own bed and imprisoned down there himself by a person unknown. His wealth and connections make it almost certain that he will be released soon.”

Roger nodded. “When I was with him before he occasionally – gifted – me to others and there was more than one Judge in that circle. You are probably right – he will walk free.”

“You are too kind-hearted, angel,” Crystal growled, “I should be delighted if he were to be hanged for our crime!”

*

The following day Freddie visited bringing news of Sir Cecil’s release from Newgate prison. “His reputation is in tatters, however,” Freddie confided, “and he is an outcast with his social circle.”

“He isn’t a very nice man,” Roger said, “but I’m glad he is not going to hang.”

Freddie rumpled his hair. “You are very sweet, Roggie.” He hugged Roger. “I’m glad you have spoken to Crystal about the money you have been giving to John and Brian, dear.”

Roger was still thinking about this later, after dinner, as he curled up next to Crystal in front of the fire. “Crys, are you angry with me for taking the money?”

“I thought we had established that what’s mine is yours and it was your money to spend or give away as you chose?” Crystal frowned. “And no, I am not angry with you. I am sorry that I allowed this situation to develop. I am concerned that you did not feel you could discuss it with me but I am not angry with you.”

Roger kissed him. “The blame does not sit with you, my love. I have never offered to assist you with finances. When I started to earn money, in the brothel, I simply took what Madame gave me. Some of the girls queried their pay or demanded more but as long as I had what I needed I was content. I think that attitude led me to simply wish for you to handle the money for me.” He kissed Crystal again. “I’d still like you to do that, if you would be so kind?”

“Certainly,” Crystal agreed, “although, you must have spending money,” he added. 

“To fritter away on frivolities,” Roger suggested. 

“To spend as you wish,” Crystal told him, kissing his forehead. “Should we give a regular sum to John and Brian?” he added.

“You do not mind financially supporting people you barely know?” Roger said.

“If they are important to you then they are important to me,” Crystal told him. He frowned. “What made you think I would judge them for falling on hard times?” he asked. 

“You are good at everything,” Roger replied, “and I feared you may have a low tolerance for the weaknesses of others.”

“If they required financial help because they were gamblers or living beyond their means I might have taken a different view,” Crystal conceded, “but I would not judge harshly an inability to earn money due to ill-health or a need for money for medicine.”

“What about an inability to earn money due to having been brought up as a gentleman?” Roger asked.

“Surely you are not suggesting a gentleman’s education does not leave him fit for the real world?” Crystal laughed. He smoothed Roger’s hair. “Roger, I take other people’s money from them. Who am I to judge anyone?”

“And if someone’s education had only left them fit to be a whore?” Roger asked in a small voice.

“Whores earn their money a damn sight more honestly than some of the Lords we rob came by their coins, I reckon,” Crystal said, “And they earn their pay. Everything I have I stole.”

“You didn’t steal the cottage,” Roger pointed out. “Or the properties you let.”

Crystal grinned. “I won the properties I rent out in a card game,” he told Roger. “I cheated.” He kissed Roger. “I even stole you,” he murmured.

Roger shook his head. “You gave me a choice,” he said softly. “And a chance and I am very grateful to you for that.”

*

It was snowing gently. The snow was settling on their hats. Meg shifted beneath Roger and snorted. “There now,” Roger soothed her.

“They’re coming,” Crystal muttered.

The coach was a dim blur to Roger. He had delicate lorgnettes now which helped him see more than he liked to admit to anyone when he held them to his eyes. They were much too valuable to risk breaking on a job. Plus he would have required an extra hand to hold them with. His pistol would be in one hand and the black velvet bag for the jewels in the other. 

“Now,” Crystal said and they were off, racing towards the coach.

Roger loved this part. He felt joy rise within him, a little shout of laughter bubbling out of him. Crystal fired the warning shot. The coach was slowing. This one was very grand, with shivering footmen on the back.

Roger pointed his pistol at the footmen, ordering them to get down on the ground. He dismounted and tied their hands behind their backs. Crystal was doing the same with the coachman. 

They opened the carriage doors at exactly the same time. A woman squealed. “Apologies for the intrusion, madam,” Roger said, levelling his gun at the man sitting next to her. He shook out the black velvet bag. “Please be so kind as to start placing your very fine jewellery in this bag.”

“How dare you?” the man bawled. 

Roger was surprised to see Roderick cowering in the corner of the carriage. He very nearly greeted him by name but caught himself in time. He was even more surprised when Roderick suddenly gave an alarming howl and launched himself towards Roger.

Roger had hit Roderick across the face with his pistol before he had even considered what to do. Roderick fell backwards, sprawling on the floor of the coach, whimpering with pain. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him.

The woman had fainted. The man yelled, “You stupid fool!” at Roderick.

Roger sighed. It was easier for him when the ladies removed their own jewellery but he continued to strip her of her finery. He caught Crystal’s eye and was relieved to see Crystal signal that it was time for them to leave. 

*

The snow had made the ground wet rather than white so the horses galloped through mud as they sped towards London. Joe appeared from the stables to take Stranger and Meg. He gave Roger an enquiring look. “No help from me tonight, I’m afraid,” Roger told him cheerfully.

“Actually the coachman pissed himself,” Crystal corrected him, with a grin.

Roger laughed. “I’ll see you shortly, then,” he told Crystal, giving him a kiss.

*

“Who were they, then?” Crystal asked later, cuddling Roger in bed. “The people in the coach,” he clarified. “I wasn’t expecting to see our friend Roderick again.”

“They were Lord and Lady Dearborn,” Roger replied. He frowned. “I’m not certain who Roderick is,” he told Crystal. “He was introduced to us as the nephew of Lord and Lady Harcourt but he isn’t Mrs Stratton’s son and I thought Lord Harcourt was the only surviving child of his parents.”

“Most odd,” Crystal yawned. “He is the son of a close family friend, perhaps, so they regard him as a nephew?”

“Perhaps,” Roger agreed.

*

Crystal had teased Roger’s story from him gradually. Roger had been brought up with his cousin Brian and educated in a manner befitting a gentleman until the age of eleven when Brian had been sent to boarding school and Roger had been sent to a very different boarding school run by Madame Sharpe to educate the children of her delights. Madame Sharpe’s school also took paying customers – usually the bastard sons of the wealthy. 

Roger had thought his wealthy relatives were paying for him to attend the school but discovered when he got older that in fact some children, including him, were effectively given to Madame Sharpe to educate and were then expected to work for her for free for a usually unspecified period of time. 

The school educated girls and boys. Any girls ‘gifted’ to Madame Sharpe usually worked in the brothel as delights once they were old enough for two years before they could either earn their own money in the brothel or leave to make a living elsewhere. The boys ‘gifted’ to Madame Sharpe also worked in the brothel fetching and carrying and generally assisting the delights. Roger had been one of very few boys who had left school and become one of the brothel’s temptations. 

“In a lot of ways I’ve led a very sheltered life,” Roger had told Crystal. Crystal had nodded, unable to speak in case he began to cry. 

*

Roderick was at the dinner party Lady Bristow held at the beginning of December. “Who is he, Lady B?” Roger-as-Rosamond asked. 

“He is Cyril’s nephew I think,” she replied vaguely.

His face was bruised and cut where Roger had hit him with the pistol. He told Rosamond about this adventure, although confessed he had not halted the robbery in any way. Roger found that he liked Roderick but he suspected he was not all he seemed.

Normally he avoided getting stranded alone with Cyril Harcourt, whose hands tended to wander to Rosamond’s rear. Today he asked him who Roderick was. “He is the son of a cousin of mine,” Cyril boomed. “Hadn’t seen that side of the family in years then Roderick wrote to say he would be in town on business. He’s a nice lad, if a bit useless.” He leered at Roger-as-Rosamond. “He’s no money, mind you,” he warned her. “He’s asked me to invest in some mining opportunity with him. All his money is tied up in that.”

Rosamond smiled prettily at Lord Harcourt. “That is most useful to know, Sir,” Roger told him. “You will think me ever so silly but I did wonder if he was not who he said,” he added, before spinning away from him in a whirl of silk and lace. 

*

“You’re kinder than me,” Crystal told him, later, picking the last few hair-pins out of Roger’s hair. “I should have let Roderick take their money.” He grinned. “He is one of us, after all.”

“If it was just Lord Harcourt then I would not have intervened,” Roger told him, “but I am fond of Lady Harcourt. She has always been very sweet to me. Well, to Rosamond.” He sighed. “I do hope the silly old fool took the hint – maybe I ought to have spoken to Lady Harcourt.”

“It gives young Roderick a chance,” Crystal said, “and really, if charmless Cyril is so foolish then he deserves to be parted from his money!”

Roger laughed and kissed Crystal. “I assume Roderick is trying to part Lord Dearborn from his money too,” he said, “and as they move in quite different social circles they will not receive a warning. Even if Cyril gets rid of Roderick I doubt he will shout from the rooftops about how he narrowly avoided being swindled in order to warn others.”

*

“These are very nice things indeed, dear,” Freddie told Roger as he examined the items they had taken from the Dearborns. “The emeralds the necklace is set with are particularly fine.” He replenished Roger’s tea-cup. “Darling have you heard the scandal? The young man Lord and Lady Harcourt were treating as their nephew turned out to be an imposter!”

Roger laughed. “Did he? How do you know? I cannot imagine Lord Harcourt spreading news of how he was taken in by a swindler!”

“Jim knows their butler,” Freddie explained. “Jim knows everyone, as you know, dear, and the butler happened to overhear the confrontation between the young man and his Lordship. There was quite a scene, I gather. You don’t seem as surprised as I had expected.”

Roger explained why he was not as astonished as Freddie had thought he would be. “Perhaps Roderick will have greater success obtaining money from Lord Dearborn. He was in their carriage the night we took these pretty trinkets.”

“I thought you two were going to try to live as honestly as possible?” Freddie asked in amusement.

“We are. Well, we were. This seemed like too good an opportunity to miss,” Roger laughed. 

“You both enjoy your work,” Freddie grinned at him, “Crystal especially. And there is nothing wrong with that, of course.”

Roger sipped his tea and considered that. Crystal certainly enjoyed stealing things. The harder the item was to take without being caught the more he liked it. He liked a challenge, Roger supposed. In many ways robbing people at gun-point was too easy for him. Roger knew that sometimes Crystal was longing to take carelessly guarded coin purses at Lady Bristow’s gatherings or part rings and bracelets from their owners. That was too great a risk, however.

*

Roger ended on a high note and gently closed the lid of the piano. “You sing so beautifully,” Crystal told him, slightly disappointed that Roger seemed to have decided to stop.

“Do you find me more attractive when I’m wearing a corset?” Roger asked.

Crystal looked up at Roger, startled by this question. “You always wear too many clothes,” he grunted.

Roger laughed. “You don’t think I’m flabby?” He sat on Crystal’s knee. “Oh, am I too heavy?”

“No,” Crystal assured him. “You are not too heavy and you are not flabby.”

“But you do prefer me to be wearing a corset? Or is it that you prefer me to be Rosamond?” Roger asked.

“I definitely don’t prefer you to be Rosamond,” Crystal told him firmly. “What has brought this on, angel? I do like you in a corset,” he confirmed, “but I like you without a corset too.”

“What is it you like?” Roger wondered. “I feel I should have asked before now. I’m not a very good whore.”

“You are not a whore. You are my partner, both in crime and in bed.” Crystal slid both arms around Roger’s waist. “I like the corset, I think, because it feels so proper yet we are being so naughty and I like watching your nice neat hair escaping from the pins keeping it in place. But mostly I just like you. All of you.” He kissed Roger. “What has brought this on?”

Roger sighed. “You will think me very foolish. When I was speaking to Lord Harcourt to warn him about Roderick he did not pinch my arse as he normally does. I confess I wondered if I am no longer attractive.”

“You are still very attractive to me, my love,” Crystal assured him. “Do you still find me attractive?” he wondered. Roger’s concern seemed to be contagious. He touched his receding hairline self-consciously.

“Very much so,” Roger told him, “Although you are a despicable rogue who lies shamelessly to trick me into thinking you won our bet so you can have control over me in the bedroom.”

Crystal laughed. “You like it,” he grinned.

“I do like it,” Roger agreed. He kissed Crystal hungrily. “Perhaps we should have an early night?” he suggested. 

*

Lady Bristow had invited Crystal and Roger-as-Rosamond to join her for Christmas lunch but Crystal had politely declined the offer. He had been entertaining private thoughts of staying in bed with Roger all day.

They did, in fact, have a Christmas lunch with Phoebe and Miami. They’d given Joe the day off and he had gone to visit his mother.

Roger had bought Crystal a new coat. “With lots of pockets to store things in,” he had said.

Crystal had given Roger a couple of sets of new underclothes, “To replace the ones I’ve ripped off you,” he explained. He had given Rosamond a parasol. “For summertime excursions,” he had told Roger. He had wondered if there would be a summer. Was the man proclaiming the end of the world correct? Would everything stop when the clock struck midnight on New Year’s Eve?

*

Crystal rolled off Roger and peered at the pocket watch on the table by the bed. “It is past midnight,” he announced, “happy new year, my darling.” He popped open the bottle of champagne also on the table. 

“A new century,” Roger murmured, pressing his lips to Crystal’s naked shoulder. He sat up and accepted a glass of champagne from Crystal and touched his glass to Crystal’s making them chime. “To us,” he toasted, “may we have a happy new year.”

“To us,” Crystal agreed, sipping his drink, the bubbles bursting on his tongue. He was glad the man’s prediction of the end of the world appeared to have been false. Life was so full of promise, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you got this far then thank you so much for reading this! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! :)
> 
> Some historical facts you might appreciate - 
> 
> In 1787 the houses in Downing Street were re-numbered and number 5 became number 10 and later became the official residence of UK Prime Ministers.
> 
> Tom Rowland was captured in 1699 having been a successful highwayman for 18 years. He was able to afford good private accommodation in Newgate Prison. He carried out his robberies dressed as a woman, riding side-saddle unless he had to make a particularly quick escape.


End file.
